Reverie
by Eruthiawenie
Summary: After witnessing a murder, a young woman is moved to London, with an entirely different identity, under the protection of the Witness Protection Agency. But things begin to get complicated when she meets a certain detective who is determined to figure out what she's been trying to hide. Sherlock/OC (CURRENTLY ON HOLD)
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Sherlock fan fiction, probably not my last either. The BBC version of Sherlock is probably my favorite out of all the different versions of the ageless show- mainly because Benedict Cumberbatch is in it. Yes, you guessed it, I'm a Cumberbitch. -winky face, winky face-**

**Now, just to set he setting and time in the story, it's several months after Reichenbach Fall. I was going to begin the story at the beginning of the second series, but I just have so much feels for the last episode, even though Sherlock didn't actually kill himself, it still made me ball my motherfucking eyes out.**

**But namely, this story is based on an American girl who witnessed a crime back in the States and was sent into the Witness Protection Agency and therefore, moved to London under a different name, and a different career.**

**Even though I don't really see the point in this, seeing that this is a fan fiction site, but I do not own Sherlock in any way. I only claim rights to my own character and the story plot.**

* * *

It was getting late.

But Sophie- who was now legally named Avery- couldn't bring herself to fall asleep. Everything was just so strange and unreal, who could find rest while dealing with what was on her mind? It was nearly impossible.

With shaking hands, the said girl brought the piece of paper she'd been staring at for the past hour to her chest as she thought over what the paper had said. It wasn't anything lengthy, it just said the basic rules she's supposed to follow in order to keep her identity a secrete.

Yes, her true identity needs to be kept locked up in some far away tower, long from any human contact.

In all honesty, it was much harder to deal with- losing your former self and becoming an entirely different human being all together. With a new 'family' and all. But, in her 'new' family she only had a mother and a grandfather who had gone deaf three years ago. It was all fake, yes, but she had to play along.

It was exactly three weeks ago that Sophia Faye Brooklyn had witnessed the murder of an elderly couple one night from walking home from the library. She was just an innocent bystander, but she had seen something that was not meant for her eyes. So, she let off an ear-piercing scream. Then a cry for help, running away as she did so. But when police officials arrived to the crime scene, there was nothing there. Not a single drop of blood, or a boot print, not even a sign that there was a struggle.

It was all perplexing for Sophie, she was most certain that she saw that poor couple's bodies laying on the cold ground with three men hunched over them. That wasn't something one could make up in their mind unless they're insane, and that, she was sure, was something she was not.

The police ended up brushing it off like it wasn't anything, saying that she might have seen something that she had just mistaken as a murder. And nothing was done that night.

And sadly enough, that night the murderers involved had seen the poor girl's face before she ran away, and, unbeknownst to her at the time, Sophie became their next target.

A week after the young girl saw the gruesome homicide, the murderers had made it clear that they wanted her dead by showing up at her house one night, threatening her with a knife. They had nearly killed the girl, but Sophie managed to escape with a nasty cut on her left side, most likely to leave a nasty scar.

After that had been reported, the police got a report of two bodies found in a local lake in the next city that was later identified as an elderly couple that Sophie had claimed to see killed that night. The police finally managed to track the identities of the murderers as two of them being on America's Most Wanted list, and the other just a random male who had been accompanying them for a few months.

Sophie was immediately approved for the Witness Protection Program and therefore professionals had planned out her entire new life that she was going to live until the killers were caught and her life was deemed safe.

Sophie Faye Brooklyn was no longer alive, seeing that the WPA (Witness Protection Agency) faked her death by running her car off of the side of a mountain, with a dummy inside, and her car was then set on fire.

After her 'death' being confirmed by a local morgue, her family was contacted without the actual truth, and was told that she had died in that unfaithful car crash. A funeral was soon set up, and Sophia Brooklyn was officially dead at the age of twenty-five.

The girl's new name was Avery Michelle Wayne, she was twenty-one and a recently graduate of a community college in America, who then moved to London, England, in start of her new job as a nature photographer for a magazine called _Nature Today_.

Sophie- who was now, Avery- had left behind a life that she was completely content with. She had been working as a librarian in her hometown with a few of her high school best friends. Her mother was just about to re-marry again, to some guy she met at her AA meeting.

Yes, her mother is a recovering alcoholic. After the death of her husband, Sophie's father, two years back, her poor mother just couldn't handle losing someone she had been in love with since she was a young girl, and had taken up drinking as a solution.

It made Sophie thing about a guy she met at the library. Carl, his name had been. They met a few times before, always talking about nerd-tastic things such as astrology. And one week, Carl finally asked her out on a date, but a day before the day could even come was supposedly the day she 'died'.

Her moving to a different country, under a different name- living a stranger's life, and having her loved ones think that she was dead, that already had killed her. Her plummeting off the side of a mountain and burning to death didn't compare to what she was dealing with at the moment.

Sophie told herself that she wasn't going to cry, she had always been a strong girl. But the last few weeks has proven to her that she wasn't as strong as she led herself on to be. But then again, look what she was dealing with.

Witnessing a murder.

Being sent to another country under a different identity.

Her entire family and her friends thinks she's dead.

It was all too much, she was even prescribed to be placed on anti-depressants. Which helped, but not entirely.

Sophie closed her eyes and prayed to whatever was up there, that everything would work out and she could return home with her true identity.

* * *

_-Four months later-_

* * *

Sherlock stared at the dead bodies before. Eyes scanning and taking in every single detail that they could possibly offer him even more so than that.

He crouched down to get a closer look, inspecting the smaller details in order to get some newer information that could lead to the killer.

Sherlock placed his hand underneath of his chin, as both of his elbows rested on his knees. Steele eyes flickered to and fro, as the cogs began to turn in the man's mind. A slow smile crept upon his lips as soon as he figured it out.

"Sherlock?" John Watson, Sherlock's best friend and assistant spoke from his side. "What did you-"

Before John could finish his question, Sherlock was already voicing his answers.

"Obviously a murder," The consulting detective started, standing up but keeping his eyes locked onto the murder victims before him. "Sloppy, but still a murder. There were at least a total of four people in the room, including the dead couple. So the other two were the murders."

"How did you figure there were two of them?" Detective Inspector Gregg Lestrade spoke up behind Sherlock and John. His arms were crossed and he seemed to have a flicker of doubt flash across his face, even though he knew that Sherlock was always right.

"Let me get there." Sherlock snapped.

"How do you know they're a couple?" John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They both have the same wedding rings on. Same style and are both at least six years old judging by the marks on both of them. Honestly, John, don't you ever actually observe?"

John huffed at his friend's insults but kept quiet so he could finish his deductions.

"The woman-" Sherlock returned to his theory of the homicide, glancing back at John then stepping aside so the doctor could have a better look. "Is approximately seven feet from her husband's body, with a bruised wrist and neck and an indention in her right palm. A knife wound on her left side, which is the cause of her death. The heel on her right shoe is snapped, so it's a sign of struggle."

John flickered his eyes back and forth between the wife, whose body lays in the center of the living room in an abandoned house. And the husband's body, who then was laying directly in front of the window. He didn't say anything, only letting Sherlock continue knowing that he has a logical explanation.

"The woman must have been holding something-" Sherlock began, but was cut off.

"A weapon?" Piped in Anderson, who stood by the doorway.

Sherlock's eyes twitched at the sound of the man's voice. "Only an idiot would think that." Was his reply, and thankful enough, Anderson didn't respond, he only rolled his eyes. "She wasn't holding a weapon, have you seen what she's wearing? No woman would go out dressed like that and be carrying a weapon. She wasn't expecting this, no. Her and her husband weren't. So they must've been meeting up with someone, or some people that they knew and trusted."

"Then what could she have possible been holding?" John asked.

Sherlock whipped around and gave John a smirk. "What do you think, John?"

The doctor shifted from one foot to another. He hated when Sherlock did this. Asking him questions when it was clear that Sherlock, and Sherlock alone, knew the answer. John swore he only did that just to make people nervous and then point them out like idiots. What the hell was he talking about? That's Sherlock's goal every single day; making people feel stupid.

"Enlighten me," John replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

If it annoyed him, Sherlock made no sign of it as he continued his explanation. "It wasn't a weapon that she was holding, but something of value, a box judging by the shape of the indention in her palm. Her attacker grabbed her first, by her left wrist, then by her neck. Then the other attacker managed to snatch up her husband before he could make his own escape, grabbing him by the back of his neck and slitting it, killing him instantly. The wife panicked at the site of her husband's death and started to struggle more against her attacker's hold. In result, breaking the heel of her left shoe and her attacker inserting the knife into her left side, killing her."

Lestrade took a step forward to the dark, curly-haired detective. "How did you come up with who was killed first?"

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Is it honestly that hard to see? I know you're not that stupid, detective inspector."

"Just tell me how, dammit!" The DI growled.

"The wounds on her body are a minute older than the ones on her husband's body." He answered a little too thrilled.

"How-"

"The color of the blood, Gregg, the color!" Sherlock threw his arms up in a huff at the lack of knowledge these people have. He then moved over to the window where the man laid. "The wood on the window, it was scratched by the man his attacker came up behind him; he grabbed it in hopes that it would prevent the attacker any further progress. He clutched onto it with enough force to pull back his nails, leaving a trace of blood and indents in the wood."

John walked closer to the man's body and sure enough, confirmed what Sherlock was saying. "His fingernails are turned up, torn, and bloody." He added, looking at Lestrade.

The DI nodded his head towards the doctor in acknowledgement before looking at Sherlock. "I'm guessing the blood on the window and the marks are newer than the marks on her body?"

"That's what I've been saying!" Sherlock growled in annoyance.

Just then, Sally Donavon came rushing into the room with a paper in hand.

"Sir!" She called toward Lestrade, ignoring the others in the room for the time being. "I have those results you wanted. I ran her credit card and her name came up as Anne Schmitt, and her husband there-" She motioned to the male, "is her husband, Harold Schmitt."

Lestrade nodded his head in approval. Both because of Donavon's results and because of Sherlock's deductions, though mainly for the latter. "What else?"

"The wife works at a magazine company as an editor in photography for a magazine called _Nature Today_. And the husband was unemployed, but did a few jobs for his wife along the road."

Sherlock digested the information for a minute before pulling off the white, plastic gloves off of his hands and headed for the door, stepping over the dead man's body as he went.

"John!" He yelled from the hallway. "Let's go!"

John did as Sherlock said, but scowled and muttered a few curses at his friend's behavior, saying good-bye to the DI and Donavon as he headed out of the building.

"Sherlock," John said, trying to catch his breath as Sherlock called a taxi from the busy streets of London. "Where are we going?"

A taxi pulled up to the curve and Sherlock stepped inside, followed suit by his best friend.

"Baker Street." Said the detective to both John and the cabby as he pulled out his phone and began to search something on the internet.

John's annoyance just grew for the millionth time that night. "You just ran out of there like a mad man just so we can go home?" He hissed.

Sherlock paid no mind, just sat there searching for something on his phone. John rolled his eyes at his behavior and stared off out of the window.

Even though most of the time Sherlock's attitude was of a child's and he hardly ever acted human, John couldn't be more content with his best friend by his side. Actually, John couldn't imagine his life without Sherlock in it- as gay at that sounded. And he never really understood this until he watched him jump off of a building, just to save the three people he cared most for.

Now, of course Sherlock didn't actually kill himself. With a few helping hands of Molly and the Homeless Network, Sherlock made it look as if he did commit suicide. It was all a trick, but a very damn good one too.

Upon watching Sherlock Holmes commit 'suicide', it was then that John realized how much he actually cared for the damn sod. Regardless of what people thought of him, Sherlock is an amazing man. He may not seem like it most of the time, but John's not stupid, oh he's far from it- even Sherlock himself stated that. John's seen his friend at his highest, and at his very lowest.

He honestly thought of Sherlock Holmes, the high-functioning sociopath, as his best mate.

"Stop!" Sherlock yelled at once, bringing he doctor out of his thoughts as the cabby came to a halt.

"What the bloody hell?" John scolded him, his own heart beating out of his chest due to his friend's random outburst.

"Take me to this address right now!" Sherlock told the cabby, holding his phone up to him so he could read the address that his costumers wanted to go to.

John looked over at Sherlock, wondering what he's about to bring him into.

"Now where are we going?" He asked annoyed.

Sherlock turned to him and gave him a smirk. "To _Today's Nature _magazine company."

John groaned.

This was going to be a long, long night.

* * *

**Review please?**

**Tibble.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I plan on writing out this story in the OC's point-of-view, and probably through Sherlock's or John's as the story progresses. **

**Also, I'd like to thank my awesome reviewers: Themdawitch, Clarissa Eden, Midnight Angel414, and TheGirlWhoImagined!**

**And I know it's soon for me to be adding another chapter to my story, but this one's fairly short. And it's sitting on my laptop not doing shit. So I figured I'd make it at least be a tiny bit productive by whoring itself out there in the online community.**

* * *

"What do you mean 'he's not in'?" Sherlock growled at the secretary sitting before him. John stood beside his friend and shot the poor woman an apologetic look before turning to Sherlock.

"Listen, it's really late, we should get home-" The detective didn't listen, but merely groaned at John's words and turned to glare at the said man. "Hey, we can come in tomorrow and see if he's going to be in then or not."

When his friend was unresponsive and just stood there giving him a look, John's patience began to wear thin for him.

"Dammit, Sherlock! It's late and I'm bloody tired, now stop acting like a child and we'll come in another time."

"Is everything alright in here?" A voice asked.

The three of them turned their attention to the direction the voice was coming from, it was a female's voice, no doubt.

Upon turning, they confirmed that the voice was indeed a female's. The girl standing before John and Sherlock was fairly short, probably reaching five foot six. But she was just tall enough to stand eye-to-eye with John. She had long dark brown hair and bright green eyes; pale and a round face.

She wasn't particularly drop-dead-gorgeous, but she was pretty- but more around average pretty.

John's the one who spoke up before anyone else could. "No-not really. Everything's fine here, me and my friend were just leaving."

Sherlock turn towards John. "No we weren't." He deadpanned.

John gave a choked laugh and looked back at the girl, just now noticing she had a black camera bag hanging at her side. Sherlock must've noticed when she first walked in, or just now realizing that she was there, because he waltz over to her and began asking questions.

"You work for this company, don't you?" Sherlock shook his head as if to shake that thought away. "Of course you work here, otherwise why would you be here right now."

The girl raised an eyebrow, but didn't look like she was going to give away any information just yet.

"You're a photographer, so you must work for the photography department." Sherlock spoke, taking a few more steps towards the girl. Who took a few steps back, clearly not wanting Sherlock in her personal space. "Do you know a woman by the name of Anne Schmitt? She works here in photography."

The girl before Sherlock still didn't answer his questions. Any of them actually. She knotted her eyebrows together, but said nothing as she adjusted the bag at her side. Sherlock actually began to wonder if she was mute or something. She didn't give off any type of warning that she knew the lady, she just stood there with a mildly confused look on her face.

_She's hiding something_, thought the consulting detective as his fingers twitched at his sides.

It was the secretary who spoke up. "Oh! I know her!" Sherlock kept his eyes on the girl for a few seconds, not looking at the annoying woman behind the desk, Selene her name was.

"What do you know of her?" He asked, finally whipping around to the secretary speaking.

She bite her lip as to think. "She had today off, tomorrow too. She works in the photography department, head chief editor actually. She basically runs the entire magazine."

"I need something more important, like records, addresses, family matters. Give me something that's not boring." He scolded, sounding more or less irritated. These people just didn't know how to give a straight answer to a question.

The secretary shook her petite blonde head. "I'm sorry, but I can't give out any information like that to just anyone. You have to have a valid and professional reason, and proof too."

Sherlock's eye twitched, but before he could respond, John spoke up.

"That's fine, we need to get going anyways." John nudged his friend. "Let's go, Sherlock."

But his friend was reluctant.

He whipped his head back to the silent girl with the camera. "Tell me what you know about Anne Schmitt."

The girl made a face and shook her head, walking away from the detective.

Sherlock let out an audible sigh as he watched her walk down the hallway, most likely heading outside.

"That's Avery, don't worry about her," Selene spoke just above a whisper. "She doesn't talk much and when she does-"

She stopped talking when Sherlock began to walk away. Obviously she must have felt offended because she glared daggers in Sherlock's back before turning to John with an pretty cross expression.

John gave her another apologetic look. "I'm sorry about him, he's just a lot to handle."

She gave him a smirk. "He's Sherlock Holmes, the fake that killed himself, then reappeared months later and he's innocent." She let out a scoff. "He thinks of himself as a high-and-mighty kind of guy, but I swear he's got to have a death wish if he treats people like this all the time."

"Yeah, it sounds strange, I know." He chuckled breathlessly. "But, he's-Sherlock's a good man."

Selene scrunched her nose up. "Yeah, I'm not seeing it yet." Her and John shared a laugh.

"Trust me, he's more than meets the eye." John said as began to turn away. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Selene."

"Wait, John." She spoke up. John turned around to face her fully. "Would you fancy a cup of tea sometime?"

John sighed and shot her another apologetic look, this time it wasn't because of his sod of a friend.

"I'm sorry," He said holding up his left hand. "But I'm engaged."

Sophie walked out of the building with a million things on her mind. What did that man want with her? Why was he asking about Anne Schmitt? She didn't even like the woman, but still. Something must have happened to her. And that damned man coming up to her and asking questions without explaining anything to her!

But what if he figured out who she was? What if he turned her over to the murderers that were looking for her? Then everything would have been for nothing.

Even though it seemed harmless, living under the WPA kind of made the poor girl paranoid as to who she talks to and gets to know.

Sophie didn't have any friends- acquaintances maybe, but no actual friends. Living a fake life made her afraid that she would somehow blow her cover and everything be ruined. That was the last thing she wanted to happen.

She then noticed the cold night air, then remembered that she left her coat at home. Sophie didn't own a car, so she always took the tube or a taxi.

Upon managing to call the latter, she quickly jumped into the cab as soon as it pulled aside to the curve to pick her up, and ignored the man from before calling out for her to wait.

She told the cabby her address and just like that she was off.

Even though she pretended that she didn't see or hear Sherlock calling for her, the detective was no fool.

He knew that she was running from him.

And he'd be damned if he didn't figure out as to why.

Was she involved with the murder?

* * *

_-Two months later-_

* * *

I stood on Baker Street, staring at the door that read '221'. I was nervous about knocking on the said door.

I've been to Baker Street before, about a week ago when I talked to Mrs. Hudson about moving in. I needed a new flat to stay at seeing that the one I was originally in became suspicious and the WPA wanted me to move to an area that they deemed safe. Which I'm not complaining.

I think I'm more nervous about finally meeting the tenants that live above me; their names are Sherlock and John, is what Mrs. Hudson told me. Both of their names sound familiar, but I can't seem to place them anywhere at the moment.

Just then, the front door swung open to reveal a bright faced Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, you're finally here!" She pulled me into a hug, which I stiffened from. Touching people I barely know isn't really my cup of tea; I'm not a very touchy-feely kind of person.

"Yeah," I laughed a little as she pulled away. She really was a sweet lady, just too touchy for my liking. "Are- uh, the others here?" I asked, talking about Sherlock and John.

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips and shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not. They left sometime this morning. My guess is that they won't be back for awhile now."

I nodded my head, not really caring if they're here at the moment or not. I would meet them soon, but I wanted to meet them before I moved in so I could get a closer look at the two, in hopes that they didn't feel suspicious in any way. But then again, WPA should have already taken care of that with their millions of background checks, criminal history and whatnot.

After arriving to Baker Street, everything went smoothly. Mrs. Hudson invited me inside of her flat as I signed a few papers, and we even made small talk over a cup of tea.

She asked me about my family and friends back home. Of course I didn't give my real information out, I told her that I only had a mother and a deaf grandfather. And to quickly change the subject, I asked her about her family instead. Apparently she has a sister and a few great-nieces and nephews. One of them was a delinquent apparently.

Once all of the papers were done and the tea was gone, Mrs. Hudson finally let me leave and get situated into my new home.

Well, that didn't necessarily mean that I was done dealing with paper work, I still had to fill out a few papers for the WPA and make sure that I have every detail right. Hopefully this time I'll be able to live here rather than a few months; I do like living in a permanent resident. I don't really like moving around a lot.

Walking down the steps that lead into 221C, my flat, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Everything was already there, it was just in boxes. After finally saying that I would take the place, even though it was WPA that chose this place for me- I had everything moved over within a few days while I stayed in a hotel until everything was worked out.

Apparently things at my last flat had became suspicious. They wasn't really sure what it was, just a few people hanging around my flat on a daily basis, so the WPA decided to move me out just in case it was something serious. Better safe than sorry, eh?

My new flat wasn't too bad. Mrs. Hudson said that she had fixed up the flat months ago in hopes that she could finally start renting it out. After a few weeks of it being fixed up, a lady and her child moved into the flat, but didn't stay long due to the mother finding some guy and ran off with him. So it was vacant and waiting for someone to take it. That's where the WPA contacted me after doing much, much research about the area around the flat; like neighbors, crime rating, etc.

And then I finally had another place to call my home for the time being.

I flung myself onto the dark colored couch and stared at the tan wallpaper that had diamond patterns in black. It was a two-bedroom, one-bath flat. It was cozy and not too small, just how I liked my places to be. It's just right for one person to be living in.

Looking around at the many, of many boxes that littered the entire flat, I realized that it looked like I owned a lot of items.

It's funny, when I have everything set out and in place it doesn't look like I have much. But now that everything's in boxes and sitting in my living room you really start to notice how much stuff you have. And right now, it looked like a hell of a lot of items.

Just then, I heard the front door open and then slam shut. Two sets of footsteps could be heard as well as a deep voice. I couldn't really make out what was being said, seeing that the walls muffled the words and made it sound like mumbling of some sort.

I had no doubt in my mind that the two people that just entered 221 was no other than Sherlock and John.

I was debating on whether or not going up there and introducing myself, but I'm not really good with meeting new people. They think just because I'm not talkative that there's something wrong with me, or they just might think I'm rude. I don't really dwell on what others think of me, but if they think that of you then the chances of you finding friends fast were little to none.

And what if they worked for the murderers that I was trying to hide from? If I waltz up there with no care in mind they could kill me on the spot. A shiver ran up my spine at the thought.

Deciding to just wait it out, I managed to located a rather large envelope on my coffee table and picked it up.

I groaned.

There must be a lot of paper work that needs to be done. Thankfully, most of it was just follow-up papers. Meaning I'll have to fill a few out within a month describing how I feel about the area that I'm living in, my neighbors, and if I think there's something strange about the place.

So far, I really don't think I'll have any trouble with anyone if I'm honest. This area just seems so relaxing.

But then again, I haven't met the tenants upstairs, now have I?

After signing a few documents and re-reading most of everything, I began to think about my family back in the States.

I wonder how my mother and the rest of my family are coping, seeing that they think I'm dead. And my little sister too, she didn't really look up to me, but I still was her older sister and we both loved each other a lot.

I remember when I was younger, before my father died, my mother, father, sister and I would sit in the living room and watch TV and then complain about the commercials.

To other people, that may sound boring, but to me it was the time of my life.

Growing up, everything just felt so perfect and in place. My little sister, Angie, and I would sneak into the kitchen and grab the biggest boiling pan we could find. Then fill it up with random ingredients and food we'd find in the cabinets. Our parents were so mad at us for that too.

I felt that all too familiar tightening in my chest, and it leads to a panic attack. I needed to stop thinking about this and distract myself.

Getting up, I decided to start unpacking, starting with my clothes and stuff.

* * *

**Thoughts please?**

**Tibble.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I've realized a stupid, stupid mistake I've made with this story. **

**Sophie's supposed to be laying a low profile under a different name. the WPA wouldn't have her working with a magazine! Oh, I can't believe I didn't catch on to that faster, so I apologize. Don't worry, I will fix it.**

**Ignore my ignorant mistake.**

**To make up for it, Sherlock and Sophie are finally going to meet! Even though they met earlier on, but you know what I mean. I didn't plan on them actually coming into contact again until around the middle of the fourth chapter. But because of my dumbassery, they'll meet a little sooner.**

**Auadin: Thank you, love!**

**Victoria: Thank you!**

**I'd like to give a special thanks for the others that had reviewed: LilKittyCatRawr and Midnight Angel414.**

* * *

I fiddled with the camera that was in my hands as I chewed on my bottom lip.

It's been a week since I moved into 221C, and to be honest, I haven't really accomplished anything, in packing that is.

Boxes still overpopulate my flat, but at least they're either put up or placed against the wall looking neat at the most. The only thing that I did unpack was my clothes, toiletries, and a few parts of my camera equipment. But nothing more.

But, to my defense, I haven't really been home in the past four days. I've been out snapping pictures of London's life and whatnot. Or I spent my time in the local library just reading books or sitting around, enjoying the silence.

Apparently Sherlock loves to shoot at things and play his violin until nearly five o'clock in the morning. And don't get me started on the stomping up and down the stairs constantly.

I haven't really met my two neighbors since I moved in seeing that I'm always out or sleeping. I didn't do much with myself, going nowhere but the library and to work. I didn't have much of a life, but that's how I was supposed to keep it. Not that I really didn't mind though.

I didn't get out much during my old life either. Always going to the library, or a stroll in the park with a good friend of mine. But I didn't have friends here, so I couldn't do the latter.

Maybe I could finally meet the two tenants upstairs? We could possibly get to know each other. I mean, there's nothing wrong with having the opposite sex as a friend. I had several guy friends back home. Hell, my high school best friend was a guy. Granit he was gay, but that's not the point.

I finally decided that I would meet my two neighbors today, if they're home.

I looked down at my attire and realized I was just lazing around in an oversized shirt and my underwear. Not very appropriate when meeting new people.

Jumping up, I ran to my bedroom and pulled out a pair of shorts with a loose top. It was friendly and casual, but didn't show I was a slob. Perfect combination when meeting strangers if you ask me.

The nervousness about meeting Sherlock and John faded only slightly over the week that I've stayed here. Though I would love to smash Sherlock's head into the wall when he decides to play his violin loudly. Now I'm not going to lie, sometimes he plays a soft tune, and I like it.

I turned and looked at my reflection in the mirror, giving myself a once-over.

Well, I didn't look too bad in my opinion. My hair was askew, curling in random places as it went. But I've always been fond of how wild my hair can look. So I ran my fingers through my dark tangles just to satisfy that nasty urge to brush the knots out, and quickly grabbed a pair of flats, walking to the door as I maneuvered to put them on.

Despite who lives here, I still locked my door on my way out and tugged myself up the stairs. Even though the main door to the place was locked, and I doubted that any of my other neighbors would break into my flat, but I couldn't help but still keep that area of paranoia filtered when it came to menial things like that.

I now stood at the bottom of the staircase that lead up to 221B. That nervousness was starting to grow back and I began to doubt whether or not I made the right choice.

I mean, com on! What if they're both total assholes, or they're working with the people that are after me?

Speaking of which, I need to make a mental note to myself to remember who the men's names are, just incase. I always managed to forget their names no matter what I do.

But nonetheless, I shouldn't be judging my neighbors like that without even meeting them yet.

It was then when I heard the front door unlock, then the doorknob turn.

I turned around the face the door as I watched as the person on the other side slowly push the door open. Did they push it slowly? Or maybe it was my mind slowing things down for me.

Sweat began to prickle at the base of my neck as my paranoia began to grow. That could be anyone on the other side of the door. It could be the men that want me dead. It could be another killer that will murder me. What if it's- a short guy with blonde hair.

Either Sherlock or John.

The short guy looked at me with furrowed brows. He had bags in his hands, probably groceries and other things.

"Uh- hello." He said, maneuvering the bags at his side in order to hold his hand out for me to shake, showing me a warm smile. "You must be Avery, the new tenant down there." He added, nodding down towards my flat.

I looked at the outstretched greeting, and hesitated on taking it.

But what harm could it do? Well, I don't really like touching people, especially if I don't know them.

This man looks familiar though. Maybe I've seen him somewhere. But where? I don't go anywhere but to the library and to work.

What if he's following me? My stomach felt like it dropped. I didn't want to make a scene and arouse this man's suspicions about me, so I'd have to play it out.

Hesitantly, I accepted his greeting and returned his smile with one of my own and nodded.

"And you are-?" I asked, stepping back into my comfort zone. Which was about seven feet away from the man. It's nothing personal, I just have a little bubble that doesn't like being touched by unknown objects.

"I'm John, John Watson." He smiled again. "We met awhile back ago."

And I couldn't help myself but to smile back even though my stomach kept getting heavier and heavier He just said we've met before. How? Where have I met him?

"John!" A deep voice yelled from behind me, probably from upstairs.

It was then that everything began to click and piece together. I knew that voice and I knew where I've seen this man from!

I whipped my head around to confirm that it was, in fact, the two men that showed up at work a few months back.

How the fucking hell?

I felt the blood rush from my face as my stomach began to churn.

I didn't like this. I didn't like it at all.

I brought my eyes up to the man that's standing at the top of the staircase who just stood there, looking like he was taking every inch of me in. It was creepy.

"It's you." He whispered.

"Sherlock- don't!" John said from behind me. But his friend didn't listen to him as he began to climb down the steps.

I finally registered what was happening and started to back up, but the man- whose obviously Sherlock- already stood in front of me, bright eyes staring me down.

* * *

I stared down at the girl before me. She was the same exact girl from the magazine company _Nature Today_, obviously.

She seemed to fidget underneath my gaze. I no doubt made her feel uncomfortable. Not that it really mattered, I take pride in those who I make feel awkward when around me.

This was the same girl that ignored my questions and ran away from me. Did I scare her that much? Or was she afraid that I knew something she didn't?

I managed to solve the crime dealing with the Schmitts. Everyone was too stupid to see that was a set-up. The robbers wanted them for their money, so they hired a few body guards to help take both of them down. The most dull thing about it was that their nephew was the one who planned the entire thing out.

I mentally scolded myself for getting sidetracked and refocused my thoughts on the brown-haired girl in front of me.

I took in every single detail there could be about her and smirked once I finally got what I needed.

She is hiding something. But what? Let's find out.

"You ran from me." I said, making her jump.

I noticed John behind me give a sigh as he rolled his eyes. I ignored him and kept my eyes on the girl.

She was about to open her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

"You're American, too short to be British. Your height is only slightly below the average of British females, also I heard you speaking with John, revealing your American accent."

At this, John spoke up.

"Sherlock, don't. Not now." He said, while walking up to me.

I glanced at John and quickly turned my gaze back to the girl. She stood there, just the same as before. Just with a confused look on her face.

I ignored John's words and his glaring as I smirked at the girl.

"You're not a photographer, your hands are far too soft for the job. Working with chemicals when printing out photographs would cause a few calluses here and there, but your hands have none." She looked taken aback, and I noticed the paranoia that began to stir in with her emotions. "You used to work indoors, your skin is unnaturally pale. Even with a little sunlight it would give your skin some color. That leads me to think that you haven't had your so called 'job' as a photographer very long seeing that you work for a nature magazine. You're suffering from paranoia and are under a lot of stress constantly, even now. Your clothes are cheap along with the flat you just rented, so you live off of minimum wage. You keep to yourself, never letting anyone in or even close to you, physically. You seem to have traits of a sociopath, but then again you don't. Asperger's Syndrome* then?"

The girl before me was unreadable even after what I just said. Further confirming that she might have Asperger's.

I just wish she would hurry up and answer me. I know I'm right on most accounts, though I may get something wrong; there's always something that I miss or mistake as something different.

"Sherlock, why must you always feel the need to show off?" John chided me. It was really getting annoying.

"Because I just do, John." I snapped back.

John, in return, huffed and mumbled something underneath his breath that was probably too boring for me to care about. He then turned to the girl and said, "Avery, are you okay?"

Avery, then? Odd name.

Hardly suits her.

She was, for the most part, lacking in response. She just stared off at me like I was some kind of monster that emerged with a ridiculous outfit on. Which, mind I inform you, that I am not wearing something as such.

No matter how hard I try to look at her, and what's beneath, I can't pinpoint her exact emotion on her face.

Confusion?

Rage?

No, no. That can't be it.

"How did you know?" She finally whispered.

Just for a slip second I was shocked. When I first met her I thought she was a mute, she was so quiet.

But nonetheless, I smirked. "Isn't it obvious?"

She tilted her head slightly, she was more curious than anything. "Clearly, but with you, it's like you're seeing so much more."

"Obviously."

"How did you guess Asperger's?" She asked me while John stared at her in disbelief. Which was something I filed away for later, something that's too boring right now.

"It's rather obvious, I'm sure even John could have figured it out sooner or later." With that, John gave me a disappointed look.

I felt a small pinch of guilt, but quickly shoved it aside. Last thing I need is for emotions to be getting in my way.

I turned my attention back to Avery, whose walls she had up before were back in place. Something must've set her off because she now had a look of doubt at both myself and John.

Another sign of her hiding something.

Which I will figure out what she's hiding and why she's doing it.

"Look, ah- Avery," John spoke up, shifting the bags in his hands. "I'm sorry for Sherlock, he can be a bit of a sod sometimes. Not the best way to introduce our new neighbor." He threw that last bit at me, as if I did something terribly wrong. "Would you like to come up stairs to our flat for some tea?" He finished with a hopeful look in his eye. Something I audibly scoffed at.

Both seemed to ignore my gesture as the two began to converse back and forth.

Boring.

I need a case badly.

"That sounds alright, but only for a little bit," She said shyly. "I have a lot of unpacking to get done before I go to work." She gave a sly smile.

John returned the smile. "Great, that's fantastic then!"

And that's when I took my cue to head on up the steps, not really bothered if they find it rude or not. They're boring with their chatter and I need a bloody case! I threw myself down, face-first, onto the couch.

Things were so incredibly dull and mundane, just like life.

"Alright- come on up then," I heard John tell the newest tenant. Both of them could be heard walking up the steps.

Just then, my phone buzzed in the back pocket of my trousers. I didn't take any haste opening up the text message.

It was from Lestrade.

_Sherlock, meet me at Windmill Drive, NW4 2DE in an hour. There's been another murder._

_-LG_

I couldn't help the grin on my face as I quickly jumped up and grabbed my coat and scarf.

Just as I did that, John and Avery came waltzing into the flat. John had a confused look on his face, while Avery's was still guarded.

"What are you doing?" He asked while I looped my scarf around the inside of the neck of my coat.

I walked passed both of them without a second glace and started pulling on my gloves as John repeated his question.

I rolled my eyes.

"OUT!" I replied, shutting the door to 221 and walked out into the cold winter air and hailed a taxi.

This is the second murder in three months.

I feel like it's my birthday.

* * *

**Is he too OOC just yet?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Special thanks to my reviewers: Themadwitch, Ignota, TheGirlWhoImagined, Midnight Angel414.**

**This is going to start out with Sherlock, then it's going to move over to Sophie/Avery's view.**

* * *

Sherlock sat in his chair in 221b thinking.

It was the third murder by the same man within three months.

The first murder he left no clue, he only took the wooden box that Anne Schmitt had been holding. Which was something that Sherlock missed at first, much to his annoyance, but picked up on it before he found the wooden box before the second murder came about.

The second murder is where Sherlock found the said object, buried deep within the victim's body. The victim was a middle aged obese man who was at the top of his game in the business industry, just the same as the Schmitt's were.

The only reason that he found it was because there was a note saying, _''The treasure is in the belly of the beast.'_" referring to the victim. He wasted no time digging in the poor man's stomach to find what 'treasure' might be there. Needless to say, Sherlock wasn't really surprised to find the box.

What was perplexing though was what was inside of the tiny box. Normally there would be a note, a piece of jewelry, or even a trinket or two. But no, this box was empty. Only thing that was inside of it was a letter that was carved on the inside of the lid.

The letter _S_.

At first, Lestrade had thought it was a message for Sherlock, and so did the detective. Sherlock made a lot of enemies, so it sounded rational that there'd be someone out to get him by luring the detective in by committing murders. But after searching the crime scene just yesterday, the consulting detective found out that it wasn't a message for him, but for someone else. Searching the body, he found that there was a letter carved into the victim's stomach.

The letter _O. _

Just the same as the first two victims, this victim was rich and high up in the business industry. His name was Jerry Kindler, a wealthy business owner of the Kindler Hotels. It was obvious that the killer was after people who had a lot of money and a very high status. But who was the killer drawing out? And why kill people with such a high status? Was he trying to capture their attention? Or maybe he was doing this to toy with a certain detective.

Sherlock smirked. This was getting interesting. Very, _very _interesting.

Three people murdered. First victim had no clues, only something taken from her- a wooden box. Second victim didn't have anything removed, only contained the box from the first victim, clearly linking the two. The third victim didn't have any link to the first two murders, but the carving in Kindler's stomach obviously showed that this murder was from the same person from before.

The only thing Sherlock gathered from the murderer was that he was tall, judging by his boot prints and the distance between them; he was roughly around the height of 5'11 and 6'1. The man was clearly experienced in this type of field, murdering people without leaving a clue behind, besides his boot prints.

But he wasn't alone. He had someone with him helping him commit these murders.

Just then, the detective's flatmate walked into the living room, and seemed to be carrying what looked like a woman's coat.

At this observation, Sherlock cocked an eyebrow thinking that the doctor brought his fiancé, Sarah, home with him.

Instead of seeing a familiar flow of straight brunette locks, Sherlock saw a messy wad of brown hair behind John.

Avery.

* * *

Sophie stood in the flat of 221b nervous and ready to run should things go badly. She wore her flats today so it shouldn't be hard if she does need to do the said thing.

She'd been living in 221c for around two weeks now, but she only managed to befriend John Watson. She didn't really feel comfortable around Sherlock, it was like he knew every thing about her, even the whole reason as to why she's here in England in the first place.

Though, during her time she had got to know John a little bit better and learned that Sherlock was a consulting detective, and a sociopath. So he was always like that.

She also learned that John was engaged to a woman named Sarah. She hadn't met Sarah yet, but from the way John described her she sounded pretty likeable. Though she didn't make any plans to meet the woman anytime soon, as stated before, Sophie wasn't really good at meeting new people, even if she did give it her best efforts and even put on a little show.

John would often come down to 221c just to keep Sophie company, she didn't really look like the type of girl who would have a lot of friends, plus John thought she was really nice.

Sophie learned that John was actually accepting when it came to her Asperger's Syndrome (ASD). He told her that there was nothing wrong with her, that she seemed fine just the way she was.

Her and John formed a mini friendship, and Sophie even considered the man as an actual friend. Given the time, he might even turn out to be a close friend to her.

Early on in the day when Sophie arrived back at Baker Street, she ran into John along the way. Turns out he just got back from Sarah's house. The two still haven't moved in with one another. Being that John didn't and couldn't leave Sherlock at the flat by himself, saying that he couldn't do that to his friend. And he didn't want Sarah to move in with him and Sherlock due to Sherlock's eccentric behavior and because three people living in a two bedroom flat just didn't cut it. But John said that if Sherlock finds another flatmate that even he could trust, then John would move in with his fiancé. Until then, John remained at Baker Street.

John invited Sophie up for a cut of tea in his flat, even though it took a bit of persuading, the reluctant girl agreed.

Now there she stood, after John taking the girl's coat for her, in 221b, with Sherlock eyeing her down. This was the exact reason why she didn't want to come here in the first place. The dark, curly-haired man always made her feel nervous and self-conscious.

Sherlock did nothing to interrogate her though, he merely ignored her presence and went back to lying on the couch, with his hands pressed together, underneath his chin.

Sophie couldn't help the small smirk that formed on her lips. It almost looked as if Sherlock was praying.

John laid her coat down on one of the chairs in the room and turned back to her. "Ah, I'll get us a cup of tea," He said, pointing in the direction that could only be the said room. "Sherlock, do you want a cuppa?" He called to his friend.

"Two sugars!" He replied.

John mumbled something along the lines of, "I already know that, you git."

He looked back to the girl and smiled. "I'll just be in here."

Sophie nodded and shifted on her feet, not really knowing what to do.

"You can have a seat in the living room if you'd like." He suggested before opening up the doors to the kitchen and disappearing.

She pursed her lips, taking a quick glance towards the detective who was still in the same position he was in when she arrived here.

Sophie didn't want to just waltz in there and sit down, even though that's what John told her she could do. If Sherlock wasn't there then maybe she would've.

She mentally huffed. She shouldn't be feeling like this just because of one arrogant man. Even if he was _the _Sherlock Holmes. The man that could tell your entire life story just by one glance. Yes, she's read all about his webpage _The Science of Deduction._ It's pretty interesting and very well crafted.

"Are you going to sit or just stand there all day?" A deep voice murmured. She mentally flinched but on the outside appeared to be calm.

Keeping her green eyes locked on the ground, she chose the chair furthest from Sherlock, somehow trying to keep her distance. As if she's trying to avoid the inevitable.

Sherlock didn't move, but he did crack an eye open to watch as the secretive girl sat down in John's chair. Her posture was straight, she was acting as if she didn't want to touch the chair itself.

Sophie sat down awkwardly in the chair. She quickly glanced over at Sherlock, who seemed to still be ignoring her, not that she really minded all that much. But she couldn't help but wonder why Sherlock acted the way he did. She's met other sociopaths before, and none of them acted quite like he did. Most of them were, well… talkative. Sherlock didn't hardly say a damn thing!

She could hear John rummage about in the kitchen, preparing the tea. Sophie wasn't much of a tea drinker, she preferred lemonade but would take what she could get. She wasn't particularly picky.

Getting tired of the silence between her and the brown-haired man that sat only a few feet away from her.

She took a deep breath, letting it out and said, "I read your website."

Sherlock didn't move nor did he skip a beat. "Find it interesting?"

Sophie frowned. She didn't want to upset the man, but she was always pretty honest when people asked her stuff.

"It was… well, kind of dull." She said shyly.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He gave her a confused look. "Dull? How did you find it dull?"

She could tell he was offended, but kept carrying on, as the British would say.

"It had some interesting cases on there, but…"

"But?" He egged her on, and she got a boost of much needed confidence.

"It's dull. You know, doesn't go into very much detail?" She then lost that confidence as soon as he bolted upright and gave her a stern look.

"I am a consulting detective, I don't have the time to write some pretty little stories for my blog." He ranted.

Sophie sighed. "Maybe if you went into just a tad bit more detail it would give your readers more information, spark their interests and make them want to come back to your site for more."

Sherlock seemed as if he was taking in her information, but his stubbornness wouldn't allow him to actually take advice from anyone other than John.

"No," He said getting up and moving to his chair, across from where Sophie sat. He leaned forward, folded his hands and then let them rest underneath his chin. "I don't need to do anything to my website. It's fine just the way it is- just because your mind doesn't keep up with it and needs more detail to actually understand my words doesn't mean I'm going to dull it down." He snapped.

Sophie's frown deepened. It was just a suggestion and she clearly offended him. She didn't really mind, at least she's trying to make herself think that, but she did feel a little bit of satisfaction when she upset the consulting detective.

She didn't really get offended when he indirectly called her stupid. It's not like she can't understand what Sherlock talks about on his website, it's just that it's too plain to really catch her interest. Like she said, it needs more detail in it so it can draw more people onto the site. Instead of writing something that would draw eyes in, he wrote something that's dull and to the point. Thought to-the-point isn't necessarily bad, but a little more thought wouldn't hurt either.

John walked into the room carrying a tray of three cups. After handing Sophie and Sherlock their cups, John sat down on the couch and turned to the girl.

"So, how are you liking Baker Street?"

She gave him a small smile. "It's… different form my past places."

"Why did you move to England?" Sherlock suddenly asked her.

"Sherlock!" John protested.

Sophie swallowed her tea and thought of what her papers told her to say if asked that type of question.

"I just recently graduated college and landed a job over here." She replied smoothly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "How about your family?"

Sophie didn't try to appear panicked on the outside, but she was dying to run away and avoid this man as much as possible. He was digging in all the wrong places.

"What about them?" Once again, she replied smoothly, only this time she added a hint of attitude. Trying to give off the impression that she didn't particularly didn't along with her family.

"You know what I mean about them." He challenged.

"I have a mother and a grandfather. Why?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat." She clicked her tongue.

"Discovery brought it back." He retorted.

"But the truth made the cat ill."

"At least he wasn't kept in the dark."

Sophie sighed. This man probably would argue with you with just about anything and everything. It was annoying but at the same time intriguing.

It seemed like her and Sherlock was locked in an intense stare battle. His cold, steel eyes locked on to her emerald gaze. It was as if they both were trying to figure each other out. Like they were trying to unearth clues or hidden messages that could lead them to figuring one another out.

"So," John began, dragging out the 'o'. "How's work so far, Avery?"

Sophie tore her gaze away from Sherlock, and instead looked toward John.

"It's not too bad, but now that Mrs. Schmitt isn't there everything is just chaotic." She confessed. Trying to at least sound normal. She wanted to complain about how much she hated her job. Photography just wasn't her thing, but doing so would make her cover seem more suspicious. And her life was at stake here.

"Did you know her? Anne Schmitt?" The doctor asked.

Sophie shook her head. "Not really, I only saw her every week or so. She was always so busy that she didn't really stop by the company. The only time she ever came by was because she needed something or someone."

"Did you like her?" This time it was Sherlock who asked.

She sighed, he was trying to interrogate her indirectly. "I didn't know her well enough to say that I liked or disliked her. But I did hear from the other employees that she was a real pain in the ass." She giggled at her use of words, not really caring if they thought of her as rude or not.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow at this and John smiled.

_She seems to be really coming out of her shell,_ John thought. Though the detective thought differently.

"You're nervous." Sherlock stated. John sighed, wishing his friend would stop and let things go.

Sophie shifted in her seat, starting to get annoyed. "Well, you're constantly asking me about things that are clearly none of your concern."

"Yet you answer them." He deadpanned.

The three of them sat there in silence. John sipping awkwardly at his tea while Sherlock and Sophie had another staring contest.

Sherlock was trying to see if there was anything about her, the way she moves or talks, that would give her away. The detective knew she was hiding something, though he didn't know what it exactly was. Of course, he'll eventually figure it out. There's no doubting that.

Just then, his phone went off, signaling he got a text. Sherlock pulled his phone out from his gown pocket and smirked.

It's about time, he thought.

John cleared his throat. "What does it say? Another case?"

Sherlock bolted up, ignoring his friend and running off to his bedroom to get dressed.

Sophie stood up, thinking that this was probably her best moment she had to leave. She handed John her tea cup and smiled.

"I'd best be off," She walked over and grabbed her coat. "Thanks for the tea and whatnot. Sherlock's… interesting." She added shyly.

John stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'm sorry about him," He said walking her over to the door. "but he's actually a good guy, he's just rough around the edges."

Sophie gave a choked laugh. "Pretty rough if you ask me." John chuckled at her comment.

Sherlock came rushing through the living room dressed, coat and all, and pushed past the two. He stopped at the doorway and looked back at the doctor.

"John, we have another case, are you coming?" He asked.

John shrugged his shoulders. "I was kind of walking Avery out-"

"Good!" He interjected. "She can come along! Hurry, the both of you now!" With that he turned on his heel and ran down the steps.

Sophie looked over at John and shook her head. "No, no. I think I'll stay."

The doctor grabbed his jacket from behind the door and pulled it on. "Could be fun."

"I'm not good around crime scenes."

"If there's anything you don't want to see, then that's fine. I just suggest you go because maybe you'll get a better understanding of Sherlock." He said as Sophie stepped outside into the hallway.

She stood at the top of the staircase and thought it John and Sherlock's offer over.

If she goes then that means she'll have to spend more time with Sherlock, and he might discover who she really is. She can't have that happening.

Also, if she goes, then she probably will have a better understanding of Sherlock and who he is, how he works. And that was something that interested her more than anything.

"If you don't want to go then that's fine." John said, now standing at the front door. Sophie wondered how he managed to get there without her noticing before.

She watched as the doctor opened the door, and step out into the cold evening air. As if on a whim, Sophie pulled her pea coat on and bolted out of the door, running up behind John right before he got in the taxi.

"Decided to come, yeah?" He smiled, "Come on then."

He gestured for her to get in before him, and she didn't think twice before stepping inside the cabby. She would be lying if she said she didn't like a good murder/mystery, even if she was living out her own mystery.

This was something that always caught her attention. She loved solving mysteries and chasing down people. It's something that always fascinated her mind when she was younger. She used to watch _Scooby-Doo _and read all of the _Nancy Drew _books, and even works by _Agatha Christy_.

She couldn't deny that she had a real love for solving crimes.

And here she was, sitting in a taxi with England's greatest detective and his colleague and friend, John Watson.

She couldn't keep the faint smirk from forming on her lips.

* * *

**I think I like writing this story more than my others.**

**Not that I'm going to stop them or anything, it's just I find this interesting to write.**

**Anyways I'm dying. Thought I'd let you know, though my aunt calls it the common cold, I call it the fucking _black plague_.**

**Thoughts please?**

**Tibbles.**


	5. Chapter 5

Sophie looked around the area while Sherlock and John walked a few feet ahead of her. They were talking about the case, or rather John trying to get Sherlock to fill in the details about the case. They finally reached their destination, Sherlock holding up the yellow police tape as John ducked under. Before Sophie could even decide if she wanted to actually go into the crime scene or not a colored woman with frizzy hair waltzed up to the trio.

"Oh, so freak's here?" She grinned at the use of her nickname, no doubt for Sherlock. "Why are you even here?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Because Lestrade needs me."

The woman scoffed. "We don't need you, we were fine without you, freak."

Sophie didn't really enjoy the fact that this woman was calling Sherlock a freak, but it wasn't her place to be speaking against anything at the moment.

"Oh, really?" Sherlock began, narrowing his eyes. "How about the case exactly a month ago that you idiots couldn't figure out was the dog instead of the neighbor?"

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes, finally taking notice of the short brown-haired girl on the other side of the tape. "Who's this?" She asked, eyeing down Sophie.

Sophie opened her mouth to respond but Sherlock had beat her to it. "She's with me," he said, his tone not leaving it up for discussion. "Sophie," he added to the girl, lifting the police tape once more, beckoning her to the other side.

_The other side_, she thought. She could feel her heart beat increase with just that thought. She loved reading all about crime stories, they've always caught and kept her attention. But could she really go to one herself? Standing over dead bodies in a room showered with blood? Could she really bring herself to see such a thing again? It was enough to give her chills. Maybe she should stay outside for a bit, just to catch her cool back.

She looked up into Sherlock's blue eyes and licked her dry lips. "In a minute." She spoke, her voice sounding more confident than she felt. Sherlock nodded to her, turning on his heel, calling for John to follow him.

The said doctor took one last look at Sophie and gave her a reassuring smile before saying, "Come in whenever you're ready." then turning and following his friend into the house.

Sophie sighed and looked at the dark skinned officer who was watching Sherlock and John enter the crime scene and disappear in the house. The lady then turned to Sophie and raised her eyebrows.

"I didn't think the freak would even have friends of the opposite sex." She said, then extended her hand. "I'm Sally Donavan."

Sophie looked down at the lady's extended hand and hesitantly took it. Her grasp on the woman's hand wasn't tight and the hand shake was short. She looked up at the dark skinned lady- whose name was Sally Donavan and gave a weary smile.

"I'm Avery Wayne."

Sally nodded and took a quick glance back at the house before turning to Sophie once more. "How do you know him? He's not the type of guy who'd go around asking random girls to come with him."

Sophie shrugged casually, but on the inside she felt like a wreck. She didn't want to give out her address even if Sally was a police officer, still, it would be risky. How? Sophie wasn't sure, but she was paranoid all the same.

"I live near him." Was all she said before lifting up the police tape out of impulse and stepped onto the crime scene.

She didn't want to enter the place so soon, but she didn't want to stand there with Sally Donavan any longer than necessary. It's not that she didn't like her, Sophie didn't know her enough to actually dislike her, but she was afraid that she might slip on her act and give away crucial information.

Sophie reached the door of the house and without thinking, she just walked in. Officers were everywhere, scattering to and fro. Some carrying evidence and others carrying papers. Some of them were talking on phones when others were cleaning the place up.

She walked up to one of the men who was on the phone and waited for him to finish before speaking.

"Why are you here- who are you?" The man asked. Sophie figured he was a man of status, seeing that he looked different from the others who were wearing a uniform in the room. He had dark hair that was striped with spots of gray.

Sophie looked around to see if she spotted Sherlock or John anywhere before turning back to the man. "I'm here with Sherlock and John, but I don't know which way they went."

The man sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. "They really shouldn't be bringing random people to crime scenes- no, it was probably Sherlock's idea." He muttered, more to himself than to Sophie. "You really should stay in here until they return. They're in the room over there examining the body; it's a mess." He added.

Sophie nodded her head, silently agreeing with the man. She wasn't ready to look at a mutilated body just yet.

"Who are you?" The man asked.

This was the second time she's been asked this nerve-wrecking question today, though it's expected seeing where's she's at. But she still didn't like it nonetheless. "Avery Wayne. Just a friend of Sherlock and John's." She said, short and sweet.

The man nodded and knitted his brows together. "I can understand John's, but Sherlock's friend?"

He laughed. "Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade." He added, holding his hand out for her to take. Once again, Sophie was supposed to shake another person's hand, though she didn't really want to. Touching people she didn't know wasn't really her forte. Just like before, she hesitated before taking the DI's outstretched hand.

She nodded at the DI and dropped his hand rather fast, which caused Lestrade's brows to furrow once more.

Sophie shoved her hands into her pockets and looked around the room again, nothing was different, only this time she saw Sherlock and John descending from a room. John wore a blue suit while Sherlock pulled off a pair of rubber gloves.

John noticed her first and smiled at her, both him and Sherlock walking up to where she and Lestrade stood.

"Well?" the DI asked, crossing his arms. "I have you five minutes when you were supposed to have three."

Sherlock ignored the man's complaints and began to explain his deductions, but Lestrade cut him off. "Not in front of the girl." He said, pointing over to Sophie who stood not only a few feet from the detective inspector.

It was then that Sherlock finally took notice of the girl's presence but didn't comment on it. "I'm sure she could handle it."

Lestrade shook his head. "No, she's-" he began to say, but Sherlock cut him off.

"This murder was different from the rest." He started, ignoring the frustrated sigh from the DI. "Instead of physically killing the man, a poison was used. Why would he decide to poison them after already physically killing three people?" He asked, though it was more to himself than anyone else.

"Wait a second- hold on," Lestrade intervened, "how do you know it was the same guy?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's obvious, there's a letter P carved into the wall next to where the man's head lies."

"SOP." John said as if it were one word.

"'SOP'?" Sophie repeated looking at John, her gaze questioning. "What do you mean 'SOP'?"

John shrugged and was about to speak when Sherlock cut him off. "It's not 'SOP', it's S O P." He said glancing over towards the girl.

"And that means, what?" Sophie asked as she began to dread what the answer might be.

"There has been four murders, including this one, where the murderer has left clues for us. The last three murders have left us with the letters: S, O, and P. Clearly leaving us a message."

As soon as Sophie heard those words come from Sherlock her faced paled as her bottom lip quivered. She knows she shouldn't be jumping to conclusions or anything, but she couldn't help but think that the murderer was spelling out her real name: Sophie. Was it even the same murderer? No, it couldn't be. How would he even have found her. She changed her name and moved to an entire different country for Christ's sake!

But what if it was just another murderer, not the same one that she was trying to hide from? There's no way in hell that they managed to find her. No, that's impossible. Right? Of course it's not. Maybe this was all just one huge coincidence and the killer was just leaving random letters, or possible spelling something else, or another name, or maybe even just using random letters to throw the police and Sherlock off.

Then again, what if the murderer wasn't? What if he was leaving that message for her? Had she really been figured out that fast?

The hands that were in her pockets began to tremble as she tried to keep her composure. She glanced around as saw that John was off talking on his phone- _when did he leave? _- while Lestrade was nowhere in site. He was just standing next to Sophie and was talking to Sherlock, where did he go? Officers were beginning to clear out of the house when Sophie realized she was standing outside. When did she come outside? How did she get here? She didn't remember moving.

Sophie's head began to go a million miles a second and a slight headache was beginning to form at the base of her neck and forehead. What was going on? She didn't remember walking outside. She didn't recall watching Lestrade walk off and John talking on his phone. What the hell?

_Sherlock_.

Sophie moved her uncertain gaze up to meet Sherlock who was standing in front of her, eyeing her down. His gaze was intense but Sophie found that no matter what she couldn't look away.

He was studying her, trying to figure out what was going on in that funny little mind of hers. Sophie's entire body was trembling now, not just her hands. She never noticed that her heart rate picked up at her breathing became uneven.

She was beginning to panic, she needed to calm down. But with everything from Sally and Lestrade's questions, and the letters from the different murders- it was hard to deal with.

The thing that tore their gaze apart- more like tore Sophie's gaze from Sherlock's, seeing that he kept his eyes still on her- was John walking up to the duo.

"I- uh- have to go, Sarah just called and…" He trailed off when he noticed Sophie's state. "Avery?" he asked, walking up to the girl.

"Yeah?" She replied, her voice sounding horrid and shaky.

John placed a hand on her shoulder and glanced at her shaking form. "Are you- are you alright? You're shaking."

She nodded but didn't smile even though she tried. "I'm fine, John. Like I said, I'm not really good with these kinds of things." John didn't believe her, as a doctor, he knew when someone was at a state of panic. She wasn't fine.

He turned back to Sherlock who was now pressing buttons on his phone. "Sherlock, maybe we should go." He suggested to his friend.

Sherlock shook his head and said, "No, I still need to look at a few things."

John nodded his head. "Do you still need me, because I want to take Avery home."

"No." John nodded.

He pursed his lips and turned back to the shaking girl before him and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. But unbeknownst to him it only made her feel worse, seeing that Sophie didn't like a lot of human contact with people she didn't really know.

"Right then," He said as he turned, "Avery, come on. Let's get home." Sophie nodded and hurried to keep up with John.

She wanted to get as far away from here as possible. She needed to get home so she could curl on up in her safe haven that she called her bed.

Once inside of the taxi, John then turned to her. "Are you sure you're aright? You look like you're on the edge of a panic attack."

Sophie didn't reply, she didn't even look at him, she only nodded and continued to stare out of the taxi window. For some reason, watching the busy night of London's life seemed to calm her, but only a little.

John tried to strike up small talk and include in her a conversation, but she only simply nodded and gave short responses to the doctor's questions and statements. Sophie liked talking, but since her life had been turned completely around, causing her to live in a constant state of paranoia, she hasn't really been the one for a social life. Not that she had one before, though she was always horrible at starting conversations, she still liked talking to people she considered either friends or acquaintances.

The taxi arrived at 221b Baker Street faster than Sophie had expected. But her thoughts have been consumed by what's happened in the past hour that she didn't even realize that she was moved outside of the house back at the crime scene.

Once they were inside of Baker Street, John turned to Sophie and said that he had to go to his fiancé's flat, that she had needed him. She only nodded, not even looking at him and walked straight to her flat, locking the door.

* * *

Sophie wasn't sure how long she had been in the bathroom as she sat on the toilet, still wrapped up in her towel.

She was just shell-shocked about what was happening. She was trying to run away from these men, yet they were tracking her down, leaving mixed-messages through murders. But how did they even find her? She was supposed to be dead, so how did-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a banging at her door. Snapping out of her reverie, Sophie pulled herself off of the toilet, pulled on a dressing gown and stepped out of the bathroom and to the front door.

She opened it up to a smiling John, who blushed when he saw what she was wearing.

"Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come up for tea, but do you want me to come back another time when you're dressed?" He asked, brushing the back of his neck. Sophie couldn't help but smile a little at his flustered state, but shook her head nonetheless.

"I'll be up in about five minutes." John nodded his head and left, it was then that Sophie regretted telling John she'd be up.

It's not that she didn't like her two neighbors, it was just that Sherlock was so overwhelming with his presence, and the way he just bluntly asked her questions- it made her squirm. She was sure, if it were to be anyone, that Sherlock Holmes would figure out her cover. Whether or not he would keep it, that she did not know, and was too afraid to find out.

After throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt, Sophie slipped on her house slippers and padded her way up to the boy's flat. She knocked on the door and John answered, letting her in. But soon after that he went into the kitchen to make the tea, leaving her alone in the sitting room with Sherlock staring off into space, plucking his violin.

As best as she could, she trotted over and sat in a chair across from the man before her, and took a look around the place.

It was cluttered, but not uncomfortably so. Though it could use a bit of tidying up here and there. Sophie figured that John or Mrs. Hudson did most of the cleaning, Sherlock just didn't seem like the kind of guy who would clean. Hell, the man barely cleaned up after himself.

After what seemed like five, or maybe more minutes, John returned to the sitting room and placed a platter of tea on the table next to the desk. He looked over at Sophie and gave her a smile and said, "How do you take yours?"

"Ah, nothing- I like it plain." She said, avoiding Sherlock's gaze that was now stuck on her. Really? What was his deal with staring her down?

_Because he's figured you out,_ a voice in the back of her head spoke. But she immediately shoved that thought back and took her tea cup, breathing it in and letting the smooth, warm aroma slightly sooth her nerves.

"So," John began. "Been back to work yet?" He was trying to strike up casual conversation, which was good. Sophie could handle this.

"I normally don't work unless I'm called in," she began, "which is sometimes a few times throughout the week. I'm still a rookie, as some would call it."

John nodded his head. "Sarah really loves photography."

"Does she?"

"This is boring. You people are boring." Sherlock suddenly spoke, ignoring John's disapproving look.

"Sherlock-"

"That was rude." Sophie piped in, earning a surprised glance from John, but an annoyed one from Sherlock.

"Am I supposed to apologize?" He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side at the question.

"Naturally, yes."

"Tell me something then, Avery," the consulting detective began, still ignoring John who was now shaking his head at him, silently telling him not to go there. "isn't it rude when you lie to someone?"

Sophie's body went stiff as her breathing stopped. What had he just asked her?

"Yes," She shoved the words out, holding Sherlock's gaze and not wanting to look suspicious.

"It's in two months," John suddenly blurted. Sophie and Sherlock looked to him with questioning gazes. "The wedding's in two months. Sarah wants it to be before Christmas."

"John, stop babbling." Sherlock scolded, but Sophie wasn't phased.

"That's nice, where are you having it?" She asked.

"We haven't worked that out just yet." John replied. "Do you have any plans to get married, Avery?"

"I'm not one for marriage, I'm afraid." She smiled.

John scoffed. "Yeah, neither was I, honestly. It was more of an impulse thing really, but I'm glad I did it."

"Dull." Sherlock added, but both Sophie and John ignored him and carried on.

"I've only been to one wedding, and it was my aunts. Never again." She chuckled, feeling more at ease with herself knowing she at least had one sane person sitting with her. Then she thought about what happened last night, how cold she acted towards John.

"About last night, John," She began, which gained both men's attention. "I'm sorry for how I acted towards you, I'm just not good around those types of scenarios."

John shook his head and sat down his cup of tea. "Don't worry about it, we shouldn't have brought you along."

Sophie looked down at her own glass, the warm liquid barely touched. There was a buzzing at the door, and since Mrs. Hudson was out John stood up to get it.

"I'll be back," He said, giving weary glances to the people sitting in the sitting room. He wasn't really worried about what she would do, but more of how Sherlock would act. Nonetheless, he stood up and walked out of the flat.

Sherlock suddenly stood and walked over to Sophie's chair and knelt in front of it.

"Avery," He began, gripping both sides of the chair. Sophie felt like her personal space was being invaded so she shoved herself further back into the cushions. "I know you're hiding something, I know it's something big."

Sophie looked shocked on the outside, but was nearly screaming on the inside. How did he figure it out? _Duh, you dumbass, he's Sherlock Holmes. He's bound to have figured something out_, she argued with herself.

Shaking her head, Sophie spoke. "I- I'm not hiding-"

"Yes you are, now stop lying. It's rude, remember?" His gaze was intense and Sophie found tears burning in the back of her eyes, threatening to pour out any given moment.

This wasn't happening! Her cover was not going to be blown by some arrogant sod of a man!

"Let me leave." She demanded, though her voice was shaken and void of any type of authority.

"Tell me who you are." He said slowly, punctuating each and every syllable.

Sophie shook her head as her chest began to heave and her breathing became uneven. "No." She forced out.

"Avery." He warned, but Sophie only shook her head.

Closing her eyes, a few tears escaped and she mentally cursed herself for being so stupid. She let this man into her life, even though she knew he would catch on. It was her fault. This was all her fault.

"You know something about the murderer, don't you?" He said, his voice a bit softer than it was before.

And without thinking, she nodded her head as a sob escaped. She knew where this was bound to end up, and she didn't want that.

"Please, let me go." She whispered, eyes still closed.

"Tell me what you know." He was still poking at her even though she was on the edge of a mental breakdown.

She shook her head. "I can't, I'm sorry but I can't."

A million different scenarios began to fill her head, making her stress out more. Would the WPA be angry with her if someone knew about her true identity? Of course they would, they're trying to protect her. But one person wouldn't hurt, would it? It's taking a big risk. What if Sherlock and John were working with the murderers? It was highly unlikely considering that they work for the police.

"And why can't you?"

"Because," She whined, hoping to annoy him to the point where he'll leave her alone. Though he didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest.

"Because why, Avery?" He was still poking, forcing her deeper into what would turn into a panic attack. Sherlock took notice of this and reached out and touched her hand. He's seen John do it plenty of times to both woman and men when they were on the verge of a breakdown. Though, unlike the others, who gladly accepted the gesture, Sophie pulled away, letting the cup she was holding crash to the ground, tea spilling out in random directions. She cradled her hand as if Sherlock had burned her.

"You need to calm down," He spoke, trying to sooth the girl. "Slow your breathing." He added, placing both of his hands on either side of her head, but she just screamed out for him not to touch her and began sobbing even worse than before.

John burst through the doors and immediately was at Sophie's side.

"Sherlock what did you do?" He yelled at his friend, shoving him aside so he could tend to the girl.

Sherlock, on the other hand, ignored him and snuck out of the shared flat, and descended down the staircase quickly, and quietly.

John gripped Sophie's shoulders and began to rub them. "Avery, I need to you breath, okay? Can you do that?"

Sophie nodded and tried to do as John directed. But how could she when Sherlock was on the bridge of finding her out?

"John- I- I'm really sorry." She choked, but the doctor shook his head.

"No, no, it's fine, it's bloody Sherlock." He soothed her.

She managed to crack a smile. "He needs to be punched in the face."

"I've done that before." John laughed.

Sophie was finally calm and John stood, dusting off his pants, Sophie stood as well. "I think I'll be leaving now since I've made a fool of myself." Her voice was still a bit shaky.

"No, it's Sherlock's fault." He said, shaking his head. "What did he say to you, if you're okay with telling me."

Sophie's body went ridged again and John noticed. "I- ah, maybe some other time, yeah?"

John nodded and quickly added, "Do you want to go out and grab something to eat maybe? You know, get away from Sherlock for a bit. I could call Sarah and you could finally meet her?"

All Sophie wanted to do was go home and curl up in her bed and sleep of this anxiety. But John's been so nice to her it was nearly impossible for her to turn him down. "Sure, I'll just go and grab my coat."

John nodded again and let Sophie grab her coat while he grabbed his.

Sophie ran down to her flat and opened the door, rushing to find her coat, which was still placed on her couch. After pulling it on and shoving her mobile in her pockets, she darted out of the door and stood outside waiting for John.

Little did she know of a certain sociopath that was searching her bedroom as her and John spoke.


	6. Chapter 6

_A special thanks goes out to __**TheGirlWhoImagined**__ and __**Evon**__ for reviewing. Also, I'd like to thank those who had alerted and added this story to their favorites as well._

_I really appreciate it, so thank you again._

* * *

"That's wonderful!" Sarah cried as she brushed a strand of blonde hair out of her face.

Sophie nodded and took a sip of her tea as John wrapped his arm around the blonde. John, Sarah, and Sophie were at a café in central London, all drinking their preferred tea. So far the entire get-together was going really well and was even calming Sophie's nerves. All-in-all, she felt better.

She like Sarah so far, Sophie hasn't really known her for long to make a judgment about her; whether she will want to continue a friendship with the doctor or not. Apparently, according to John, they just recently got back together within the last year after their break-up a while back, and were now engaged. Sarah was incredibly excited for that too.

Sarah was sweet, funny, and really intelligent. It was far these days to actually hold a seemingly intelligent conversation, so Sophie was grateful for that. She seemed to really care for John. Well, of course she had to of, they were getting married.

Sophie smiled and set down her mug, her hands were still shaking, but not as badly as they were before, but still shaking nonetheless. She debated on taking a nerve pill and going to sleep once she got back to her flat. Maybe it might help her.

She wanted to punch Sherlock in the face, quiet literally too. He always pushed and prodded about subjects that he really had no reason to be talking about. It wasn't any of his business, yet he still did what he did. But that's how sociopaths are, well, most of them anyway. They can't seem to grab onto the concept that they're crossing the line with things, and when they do, they don't care. They just keep on.

John laughed about something Sarah had said and Sophie smiled a bit. _If only Sherlock could be a bit more like John,_ she thought. But shook that thought out of her head just as soon as it came there. There's no point trying to change a man like Sherlock, not to mention that it's wrong. Sophie never liked how her family and friends would try to change her and her Asperger's, so she knew that it wasn't right.

"Oh, that was priceless!" John cried, wiping his eyes that had watered due to his laughter. "Didn't you think so, Avery?"

Sophie looked over at John and grinned. "Yeah, it was," she lied. She wasn't really paying attention to either of them and immediately felt guilty. The only reason why they were here was to try and distract her and make her feel better. John didn't tell Sarah about what had happened between her and Sherlock, but he would sooner or later.

"Ah," John spoke, looking at the watch on his wrist. "didn't you say you needed to be at the hospital for a meeting?"

Sarah looked like she just remembered something then paled. "Yes, what time is it?"

"Half past six," He replied.

She bit her lip and said, "I'm supposed to be there at seven, do you think I can make it there if I leave now?"

John crinkled his forehead and thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

She nodded and stood up, throwing an apologetic smile towards Sophie and said, "I really am sorry, Avery, but I need to go. I didn't realize we've been here for more than two hours." She apologized.

John stood and pulled out a few notes and tossed them on the table. Sarah refused at first but John insisted that he pay for the bill, saying that it wasn't a lot in the first place. Sarah turned back to Sophie and apologized once again for her sudden need to leave.

Sophie shook her head and glanced out of the window of the café, inspecting the light rain that fell down. "It's fine," she replied, looking back at the two now. "I understand. I honestly think I should get home anyways and take a nap or something." she tugged the corners of her mouth up a bit in a small smile to reassure John's concerned gaze.

He told Sarah to go on outside and fetch a cab while he visited the men's room before leaving. Once outside and away from the two, John leaned in on the table and spoke in a hushed breath.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked, "I can take you home and then go with Sarah if you'd like."

Sophie shook her head and picked up her coat off the back of the chair and stood. John followed suit, standing in front of her. "I'll be fine," she replied. "like I said, I should probably get home and sleep the rest of the day off. I'll probably take a nerve pill or something to help me sleep too."

"I think that might actually help you, just don't take more than one." He replied.

"Please, John," Sophie laughed. "I may have issues but I'm not the kind of person who'd overdose just to get rid of the feeling."

John nodded his head and glanced out of the window. Sophie turned just in time to see a taxi pull up next to Sarah. She turned back around to John and pushed him away from the table in a friendly matter.

"Go on," she said, throwing him a smirk. "she's waiting and I'm sure she doesn't want to be late for her meeting."

John returned the smirk and bid his good-bye's before turning around and walking out of the café. She sighed, slipping on her coat and walked outside, hailing a cab to take her back home to Baker Street.

Sophie thanked the cabby and handed him the correct amount of money before stepping out into the now pouring rain. She quickly ran up to the door and unlocked it, throwing herself into the place in hope to rid herself of the dreaded weather outside.

Sophie shook her soaked hair and pushed it out of her face. She frowned when she realized just how soaked it was. Not really being one for getting wet, Sophie quickly ridded herself of her now drenched coat and kicked off her flats. The water had got on the inside of them too, making her feet soaked all the same.

She quickly padded her way down to her flat and went to unlock her door. Once inside her flat, she balled her wet coat into a ball and made her way to her bathroom to drape the material over the tub to dry out. She did the same with her flats, but left them in her sink instead.

After taking a towel to her hair and brushing it out, she made her way to her bedroom, about to remove her top until she pushed open her door and saw who was sitting on her bed.

Sophie quickly suppressed a scream but didn't hide the look of fear that etched itself across her pale face. Sherlock was sitting on her bed, ever so casually, like nothing was wrong. Though Sophie wasn't so blind as to not notice the glint of mischief and excitement that was shining from his steel eyes.

She made the rest of the way into her bedroom, only stopping short of where Sherlock was sitting before noticing the pack of papers that he sat next to. Her heart dropped.

_He found out._

"Sophia Faye Brooklyn," Sherlock began, narrowing his eyes at the now trembling girl. "I told you I'd figure it out."

Sophie bristled. "By breaking into my flat and going through my stuff?!" she yelled, anger now taking over.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It was obvious you were hiding something since you walked through that door," he began, standing up and quickly strolling across the room, shutting the bedroom door. "It would take an idiot not to notice something like that. You're constantly scared, living in complete fear." he hissed at her.

Sophie didn't turn around, so her back was to Sherlock's. She had been living in fear, just like he said. She's been hiding her secrete from people for so long, how did he figure it out so quickly?

"So you knew all along?" she croaked, finally taking a seat on her bed, the place Sherlock had just been occupying not only seconds before. Though she couldn't bring her green eyes up to meet his.

Sherlock scoffed. "I didn't know you were in the WPA, I assumed you knew something crucial to the case I'm currently working on and it seems that you do in fact know something."

Sophie nodded her head as tears threatened her for the second time that day. She was afraid to know what Sherlock was going to do with this information about her. Did he plan on turning her in to Lestrade? Would she get in trouble?

"They're spelling out your name, Sophia." Sherlock commented, ignoring the girl on the break of a mental breakdown before him.

"How did they find me?" She questioned herself, her voice just above a whisper. She heard Sherlock stroll over to where she sat, but she still didn't want to look up. Her vision was blurry, though she was afraid of Sherlock at this moment, she still didn't want to see the expression on his face.

"Oh, don't be stupid, Sophia," he scolded. "It's obvious that it's someone else doing to killings not the men you're running from."

She winced at his words. No one has called her by her real name, much less Sophia, in a while. Everyone, before she moved, always called her Sophie. So it was odd to hear someone call her that.

Sophie turned her head upwards just a bit, but only enough to look at Sherlock's torso. She still wasn't ready to look him dead-on. "How would you know?" the question came out a little more harsh the she intended, but she wasn't that concerned at the moment.

"You're dead remember?" Sherlock spoke as if he were speaking with a child. "They think that you're dead, so obviously it's someone else. Plus I've read the report about the murder that you witnessed, also I read up about the three men involved and their past crimes- it's nothing like what I'm dealing with now. Those men aren't that clever. Who we're dealing with right now obviously knows what they're doing."

Sophie shook her head, not really wanting to talk about this right now. All she wanted to do was go home, take a nerve pill, and lay down for the rest of the night.

"Why are they after me then, if it's not the same men?" she buried her hands in her face and willed herself not to throw herself into a panic attack. Sherlock noticed this but didn't make a move to comfort her like last time.

"Take deep breaths and control your breathing, I don't feel like John accusing me of your ill mental health." he said.

Sophie scoffed. "You're the reason I had a panic attack earlier today," she spat, finally bringing her gaze up to meet Sherlock's stony glare.

He rolled his eyes. "I merely asked you a question, it's not my fault you're too overly emotional."

She let her jaw drop in disbelief, but then realized who she was dealing with right now, so she closed her mouth and ran her hands through her hair.

"Since you're so great," she spat sarcastically, "then tell me why there's other people after me."

"Oh, don't play coy, it's unbefitting of you." he rolled his eyes again in annoyance. "I've read your file, I know you're not that stupid, figure it out."

Sophie wasn't sure if she should take that as a compliment or an insult. Nonetheless, she actually thought about it. Two of the three men that she saw murder that poor old couple was supposed to be in some 'gang'. But if they thought she was dead, then how could they send other people to look for her?

"They don't believe I'm dead," she whispered.

"And?" Sherlock edged.

She shook her head. "And what?" she wasn't sure where he was going with this. If he already knew, then why put her through this? "How would they even know where to look? The people, I mean, not the men."

Sherlock sighed. He wasn't really pleased with how she was going about things, but she was doing better than any other moron would do, he supposed. Though she wasn't really seeing the big picture, she was only looking at the smaller details.

"The WPA is so stupid that they didn't even realize the mistake they made," he spoke, "placing you in a magazine as a photographer. These people were bound to find you soon enough."

Sophie's eyebrows knitted together. "I did think it was odd-"

"You've been living under the alias of Avery Michelle Wayne for five months now, I'm surprised it's taken them this long to make their move. Oh, this is getting exciting, isn't it?"

Sophie noticed how Sherlock was smiling about this, her problems, her life. She wanted to be mad at him but found that she couldn't. This was something that he loved to do, it's his passion. Just like reading books was something she loved to do, even if her family wanted her to be something more in life.

But, one question still haunted her and she couldn't help but ask. "What will you do now?"

Sherlock looked confused for a moment before replying, "What do you mean what will I do?"

"Are you going to turn me in to Detective Inspector Lestrade?" She bit her lip, looking up at him once more.

He didn't miss a beat. "Why would I?"

She shrugged. "Because I know something about the murders, hell, I'm the reasons the murders are happening."

"Obviously, but why would I feel the need to tell Lestrade?"

Sophie was silent in her reply and Sherlock finally got what she was asking.

"You won't get in trouble, Sophia." he said.

The girl let out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. "How can you be so sure?"

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" she asked confused.

"Stop being stupid."

Sophie frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Sherlock took a quick glance around her room before replying. "You're in a scheme to hide you away from all of this, yet it's still being brought to you. Just because you're the reason for the murders doesn't mean you will get locked away for it, so stop being stupid. It's annoying."

She dropped her gaze and sighed. She was more relaxed than she realized and it bothered her in the smallest of ways, but was grateful for the fact that she wasn't hyperventilating at the moment. Normally she would've been so unnerved just because Sherlock finally figured her out, or that she had more people after her than she had originally thought. But she wasn't, and it was oddly a satisfied feeling.

For one thing she was sure about was that Sherlock wasn't planning on telling anyone about this. But what about John? She was sure that she could trust the doctor with something like this.

At first, Sophia was afraid that Sherlock would turn her in and expose her for who she really was, well, he did that latter but only between the two of them, hopefully he hadn't told anyone else. For some odd reason, she was sure that Sherlock would keep her secrete for her.

She let out a cold, humorous laugh. Since when did she start trusting strangers like this with something as serious as her life? A lot has happened, but she never thought she'd go against her moral code and trust a total stranger, regardless of how intelligent he was.

Should she tell the WPA about this, or would they figure it out? What would they do once they had? Would she get in trouble? Probably. Not telling anyone that Sherlock figured her out wouldn't hurt anyone, right? Of course it wouldn't, for now at least. Maybe, if she lets the detective work this issue out, he might find the people that's after her and then she'll be able to go home.

Sophie looked up when she heard her front door close and realized Sherlock wasn't there. Had he just left her there? She should've known he wouldn't stay long. He's probably on his way up to his flat to work out more stuff from this new case he just acquired.

She sighed and brought herself up off of her bed and walked to her bathroom to retrieve a nerve pill. God knows she needs it right now, her head was beginning to hurt.

* * *

Sherlock sat in his usual chair, plucking away at his violin. He was submerged in thought about Aver- no, Sophia's case. He knew that she had been hiding something but wasn't aware that it was something like this. He just figured she knew a few things about the murders due to her panicked reaction to the last murder.

Sherlock felt his lips turn up into a slight smirk at this thought. This at least gives him something to do and keep him occupied. Plus it was just so interesting that he couldn't hardly keep still. The man wanted to be out there tracking down this man- or men- and getting down to the bottom of their scheme. But, he didn't have much to go on. He's just going to have to wait it out until they leave a crucial piece of evidence behind.

It was all beginning to piece together, these past murders. They were all clearly linked to Sophie, that much Sherlock figured out as soon as he searched her flat.

The murder of the Schmitt's, powerful authority in the _Today's Nature_ magazine company, the place where Sophia worked. Killing high-society people who just happened to be rich just to get Sophia's attention. And last but not least, the carvings that have been left behind. S-O-P, clearly spelling out the said girl's name.

Sherlock had finally figured out Sophia's secrete, now the fun part was beginning. This was where everything was beginning to get interesting.

He heard his text-alert on his phone go off on the side-table beside him. Picking it up he read a text from Lestrade saying that there was a new case; another murder. He smirked as he send John a text that contained the address saying that there was a new case and that it involved their neighbor.

Once that was done, Sherlock jumped up, putting on his trench coat and scarf and ran down to Sophie's flat. upon opening the door, he noticed that she was passed out on her couch. He was aware of her nerve pills that she kept in the bathroom, so he assumed that she had taken them. Walking over to the said girl, he confirmed that she did take them due to the fact that the bottle was on the floor, next to the couch.

He originally planned on taking her with him in hopes that she could notice something that would help with the case, but since she was drugged there wasn't much she could do. So he left her there and proceeded outside to hail a cab.

This was where it was getting interesting.

And the detective couldn't, for the life of him, keep the smirk that took over his lips.


End file.
